Imogen

by Jilly Cooper

  ‘Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Come over here and tell us all about the château and the embattled Edgworths.’

  ‘I didn’t go in the end,’ she stammered.

  For a second Nicky looked wary.

  ‘I walked along the beach,’ she added quickly, ‘and sunbathed and wrote postcards instead. I must go and change.’

  ‘Have a drink first,’ said Nicky, steering her firmly into an empty seat beside him. ‘You look bushed.’

  Fortunately at that moment Yvonne and James arrived, both washed and changed and looking incredibly well laundered.

  ‘The château was quite lovely. You did miss a treat, Imogen. The owner happened to be in residence, and took quite a fancy to me,’ said Yvonne, patting her hair, ‘and showed us everything. They had a wine-tasting on too, and gave us free glasses of wine. No, I’ll only have a pineapple juice thank you, Nicky, and James doesn’t need anything stronger.’

  Nicky ordered the drinks in his rapid French, and went on eating his way through a packet of crisps.

  ‘It’s a pity you don’t take more interest in culture, Cable,’ said Yvonne, looking disapprovingly at Cable’s stretch of midriff. ‘I’m sure you and Matt would find a lot more to talk about in the evenings if you did.’

  ‘Matt and I have got more exciting things to do in the evenings than talk,’ snapped Cable.

  A seagull that had been circling overhead looking for titbits suddenly swooped on one of Nicky’s crisps that had dropped on the floor.

  ‘Bugger off,’ said Nicky, swiping at it with his foot.

  ‘Bet you say that to all the gulls,’ said Cable.

  Nicky grinned. ‘I don’t want it to dump on me.’

  ‘Supposed to be lucky,’ said James.

  ‘One dumped on me when I was playing in Rome. I promptly dropped the set.’

  ‘How did the workout go?’ asked James. ‘Find someone good enough to play with?’

  Nicky laughed. ‘Surprisingly, yes. For once I was really stretched,’ and in the diversion caused by the drinks arriving Imogen saw him stretch a hand out and gently stroke the underneath of Cable’s thigh. She wriggled luxuriously and smiled at him.

  James took an unenthusiastic gulp of his pineapple juice and nearly choked.

  ‘Must have gone down the wrong way,’ he said, his eyes streaming, as Imogen thumped him on the back.

  ‘I didn’t think your hair would stay like that, Imogen, once it got wet,’ said Yvonne smugly.

  I hate her, thought Imogen. I’d like to take her beastly clean neck between my fingers and throttle her. Then she saw Matt coming towards the table, and her stomach dropped with love and she felt as though she was hurtling downwards in a very fast lift. He looked bug-eyed and exhausted, and collapsed into a chair next to Cable.

  ‘Darling,’ she said with unnatural enthusiasm, ‘how was the tip-off?’

  ‘Disastrous, complete bum steer. I give up. It’s obviously impossible to reach Braganzi.’

  ‘Can’t say I’m sorry,’ said Cable, running her hand sexily over his thigh. ‘We might have the pleasure of your company for a change.’

  How can she? thought Imogen, appalled. She’s just got out of bed with Nicky, and in front of him she’s fawning all over Matt.

  Matt threw a bulging airmail envelope down on the table.

  ‘Braganzi’s cuttings. I asked the paper to send them out,’ he said ruefully. ‘Arrived by second post. Won’t be needing them now, so I might as well get drunk tonight.’

  ‘You did that last night, remember?’ said Cable, with a slight edge in her voice. She pointedly removed her hand from his thigh.

  Another large round of drinks was ordered. Imogen hadn’t even finished her first. She wondered how on earth she was going to get through the evening. There seemed to be so many people in the party whose eyes she couldn’t meet any more. It was as though Matt had read her thoughts.

  ‘Gilmore’ll be here any minute,’ he said to the table in general, but more in her direction. ‘You’ll like him. He and Bambi are one of the few happily married couples I know.’

  ‘She actually likes staying home and being a mother and baking bread and polishing furniture,’ said Cable.

  ‘How nice,’ said Yvonne. ‘How old is she?’

  ‘About forty.’

  ‘I love older women,’ said James, taking a hefty belt at his pineapple juice and looking very excited.

  ‘She’s happily married, Jumbo,’ snapped Yvonne.

  ‘I don’t think Gilmore’s ever strayed either,’ said Matt.

  Cable smirked as though she knew better.

  ‘Oh, he may have pinched your bottom at the odd press party,’ admitted Matt, ‘but it’s all show.’

  ‘I must say it will be nice to have another wife to talk to. Once one gets married one does find single girls rather limited,’ said Yvonne, getting to her feet. ‘I must just pop over to the newsagents and get some more postcards. I haven’t sent one to your mother yet, Jumbo.’

  ‘Bitch,’ said Cable, sticking her tongue out at Yvonne’s trim departing back.

  ‘What did you ask them to put in these pineapple juices, Nicky?’ said James.

  ‘Vodka,’ said Nicky. ‘I thought it was the least obvious. Probably disgusting.’

  ‘At least it’s alcohol,’ said James. ‘Thanks awfully. Let me get another round quickly while the old girl’s buying postcards.’

  ‘You’re very quiet, Imogen,’ said Cable. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘The heat’s probably been too much for her,’ said Nicky. ‘We should have taken better care of you, and not left you alone.’

  They were all looking at her now. Imogen thought her face would crack with trying to smile.

  ‘I think I’ll go and change,’ she said.

  Upstairs she listlessly flipped through her wardrobe. In the end she put on the green dress with the white daisies, though it seemed far too frivolous for her mood of black gloom. The low-cut neck showed her shoulders and breasts, beautifully tanned now. During a day of such traumas it seemed odd that she should have turned so brown. Her hair, despite Yvonne’s acid comments, fell into perfect shape when she combed it. She fiddled around a long time getting ready. She didn’t want to go down; she couldn’t bear to face the faces. A knock on the door made her jump. Matt, she thought with longing. But it was Cable.

  ‘Hullo, that’s nice,’ she said, not looking Imogen in the eyes. ‘Did Matt get it for you yesterday?’

  Imogen nodded.

  ‘He really ought to be on the women’s page. We were worried about you, you took so long.’

  You can talk, thought Imogen.

  ‘I’m so pleased Larry and Bambi are arriving tonight,’ said Cable as they went downstairs. ‘Bambi’ll be such a relief after Yvonne. She’s sliding into middle age in such a happy leisurely sort of way. Makes one think getting old might not be so desperate after all. You’ll love her.’

  Bambi was obviously no competition, thought Imogen. From Cable’s Mona Lisa smirkings earlier, Larry Gilmore was obviously an old flame of hers. With Nicky as a current admirer, James ever ready to pounce and Matt in attendance, no wonder she was in such a good temper.

  When they got to the table, James wolf-whistled at Imogen and Nicky told her she was looking beautiful. Imogen went and sat next to him, as far away from Matt as possible. I’ve got dinner to get through, and then I’m going straight to bed, she thought. A girl a few tables down was petting a panting golden retriever. It reminded her of Homer. Suddenly she felt so homesick she could hardly see straight. She mustn’t cry. She stared down at her clenched fists, fighting back the tears.

  ‘The Blaker-Harrises are supposed to be arriving at St Syriac tonight,’ said Cable. ‘We must call them tomorrow.’

  Conversation fortunately moved on to the rocky state of the Blaker-Harrises’ marriage, and Imogen was able to recover herself. Glancing up, she saw Matt was watching her. She flushed and looked quickly away. I’m
an embarrassment to him now, she thought miserably.

  Then, to her relief, Cable said, ‘Look, there’s Gilmore.’

  ‘Over here,’ yelled Matt, waving his arms at a very suntanned man of medium height with a thin hawk-like face. He was wearing a beautifully cut cream boiler suit, slashed to the waist and tucked into black boots. He was screwing his eyes up and looking round.

  ‘He can’t see a thing without his glasses,’ said Cable. ‘Christ, what has he done to himself?’

  The suntanned man finally located them and, stopping to gawp at a sensational brunette as he crossed the road, nearly got run over by a couple of stunning blondes in a pink convertible.

  ‘What a lovely way to go,’ he drawled. ‘Hullo, everyone.’ He clapped Matt on the shoulder, kissed Cable and collapsed into a chair. ‘Jesus, I need some first aid. Order me a quadruple whisky.’ No one moved.

  ‘What have you done to yourself?’ asked Matt.

  ‘You’ve changed your hair,’ said Cable.

  ‘It’s the Mark Antony look.’ Gilmore pulled the black tendrils over his forehead.

  ‘And you’ve been at the Grecian 2000. You’re as brown as a berry.’

  ‘It’s been a very good summer in Islington,’ said Gilmore, and roared with laughter.

  ‘You’ve had your ear pierced. And where did you get that white suit from?’

  ‘I decided my image was getting a bit dreary, I ought to jazz myself up a little.’

  ‘A little,’ said Cable. ‘Christ Almighty, Gilmore!’

  Matt started to laugh.

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ said Gilmore. ‘It jolly well works anyway. How are you, Nicky? You look disgustingly healthy.’

  ‘No more than you,’ said Nicky, and introduced Imogen and James.

  Matt ordered Gilmore a drink and another round for the rest of them.

  ‘Any luck with Braganzi?’ said Gilmore.

  Matt shook his head. ‘Not a squeak. I’ve tried everything; and he machine-guns doorsteppers.’

  ‘Well, if you can’t get in there no one can,’ said Gilmore.

  ‘They were bloody good, those beauty queen pictures of yours,’ said Matt.

  ‘Took a hell of a lot of re-touching, both beauty queens and pix.’

  ‘How’s the paper?’ asked Matt.

  ‘Much the same when I left it.’ Gilmore drained half his whisky in one gulp. ‘Bruce Winter gave in his notice again; wrote a 17-page letter of resignation which no one could be bothered to read. So he’s staying on after all. Our man in Jerusalem was wounded in the foot in a riot. H.E. sent his love. All he can think about at the moment is the All-Woman Everest Expedition.’

  ‘Are we going to sponsor it?’

  ‘Not if the finance boys have their way.’

  ‘I picked up a good story this afternoon,’ said Matt. ‘All the kids have been cheating in their Baccalaureate. Some child got hold of the papers in advance and gave the answers to all and sundry. The authorities are completely flummoxed. They can’t fail the whole lot of them.’

  ‘Wish that would happen in London,’ sighed Gilmore. ‘It’s the only way my children would ever get their A levels. Are you going to file any copy?’

  ‘I might,’ said Matt, ‘if I can summon up the energy.’

  ‘There’s trouble blowing up in Peru,’ said Gilmore. ‘If it gets any worse H.E. did say you might have to cut short your lotus-eating and fly out there.’

  ‘What sort of trouble?’ said Matt.

  He’s happy, thought Imogen wistfully. He must have been bored out of his mind this week with the rest of us.

  It was Cable who broke them up.

  ‘Must you two talk shop all day? Where’s Bambi? In the bath?’

  ‘Er, no,’ said Gilmore, wincing as he gingerly turned the ring in his ear. ‘God, these things hurt! She’s in Islington.’

  ‘She’s what?’ said Cable.

  ‘In Islington.’

  ‘You’ve come on your own, then?’

  ‘In a word, no,’ said Gilmore.

  ‘You haven’t brought someone else?’ said Cable suspiciously.

  ‘In a word, yes,’ said Gilmore.

  The stunned silence was interrupted by a gasp of amazement from James. An incredible blonde in silver platform heels, a silver space suit, with long blonde hair was causing considerable excitement as she wended her way along the front.

  ‘There she is,’ said Gilmore, going slightly pink under his suntan. ‘Over here, my cherub.’

  ‘She looks just like Bardot. She isn’t, is she?’ said James in excited tones.

  ‘Not quite,’ said Gilmore. ‘I call her Brigitte Barmaid actually.’

  ‘Jesus, look at those tits,’ said Nicky, smoothing his hair.

  Matt was torn between laughter and disapproval.

  ‘Where on earth did you find her?’ he said.

  ‘She came to us as a temporary,’ said Larry. ‘I kept bumping into her in the lift.’

  ‘There was room for you both in the lift?’ asked Matt.

  ‘I thought she’d have a nice soothing influence on Cable,’ said Gilmore. ‘I know how she likes as many pretty girls around her as possible.’

  Cable was looking like the inevitable thundercloud.

  ‘This is Tracey,’ went on Gilmore, as the blonde sat down between him and Imogen, with a flurry of ‘pleased-to-meet-yous’. ‘And she never drinks anything else but sweet Cinzano, because she’s hung up on sweet sin, aren’t you, my precious?’

  ‘Do you mind?’ said Tracey. ‘You’re lovely and brown,’ she added, beaming at Imogen. ‘I always think a tan does more for a blonde than anyone else. Thank God I brown very quickly.’

  ‘Don’t you burn?’ said Imogen, looking at the platinum hair.

  ‘Never,’ said Tracey. ‘This colour’s out of a bottle. Normally it’s dark brown.’

  Imogen blinked, unused to such frankness. ‘Larry’s a wonderful colour already,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, that’s Man Tan,’ said Tracey. ‘It didn’t work on his legs. They’re all striped like a tiger.’

  Imogen giggled, and suddenly felt more cheerful.

  At that moment Yvonne arrived, weighed down with paper bags and postcards.

  ‘I got this for our Daily,’ she said, producing a lady in a crinoline made entirely of shells. ‘Isn’t it original? Oh hullo,’ she added to Gilmore. ‘You must be Larry. We’ve never met, but I so admire your work. And you must be Bambi?’ she said turning to Tracey. ‘I’ve heard so much about you. May I call you Bambi?’

  ‘Well I keep doing it all the time,’ said Gilmore in his lazy drawl, ‘but she doesn’t like it very much.’

  Yvonne sat down between James and Matt.

  ‘Where are you staying?’ she asked.

  ‘At the Plaza,’ said Tracey. ‘The rooms are awfully pokey.’

  Yvonne looked put out. ‘You should see our little hellholes,’ she said, glaring at Matt.

  Tracey turned back to Imogen. ‘Isn’t it awful? Every time you turn on the bath in an hotel you get absolutely drenched from the shower. I got soaked tonight.’

  She can’t be much older than I am, thought Imogen. Cable and Yvonne were both glaring at her as though she was a particularly nasty maggot who’d appeared in their salad. Looking at her more closely, Imogen realised that underneath the heavy make-up she had a round face, huge brown eyes and a very sweet smile.

  ‘Ta very much,’ she said, taking her Cinzano from Matt. ‘Who belongs to who round here?’ she added to Imogen. ‘Who’s the little one with the pink face who looks like Ronnie Corbett?’

  ‘That’s James. He’s married to Yvonne, the one with red hair. She’s a model.’

  ‘And the lovely brown one next to you? Goodness, he’s handsome. He must be a coastguard or a swimming instructor or something.’

  Imogen stifled a giggle. ‘He’s called Nicky Beresford.’

  At the mention of his name Nicky looked up. ‘I was just wondering what you do for a living,’ said Tracey,
smiling at him with luscious simplicity.

  ‘He plays tennis,’ snapped Cable, then after a pause, ‘extremely successfully.’

  ‘Oh, how lovely! I love tennis. Perhaps we could have a game tomorrow.’

  ‘Perhaps we could,’ said Nicky, smiling into her eyes. ‘It doesn’t have to be tennis.’

  ‘Encore de whisky,’ shouted Gilmore, glancing round at the girls sitting at nearby tables and walking along the front. ‘Christ, the standard of talent is fantastic here. Just like the King’s Road used to be on a Saturday afternoon. Can’t think why I brought you, Tracey darling. Rather like carrying electric logs to Newcastle.’

  ‘You’d have to speak French to them, I shouldn’t wonder,’ said Tracey placidly, ‘and you know how that tires you. I’m hungry. I hope the food’s better than it was in Paris. We went to Maxim’s last night. It was disgusting. I wanted a steak, and they gave me this charred rectangle of beef; when you put your fork in all the blood ran out. I love a nice scampi and chips.’

  ‘I expect it can be arranged,’ said Gilmore.

  Yvonne was looking at Tracey in a puzzled way. ‘I can’t believe you’re forty,’ she said.

  ‘She is round the bust,’ said Cable spitefully.

  ‘That’s clever,’ said Tracey, quite oblivious of either girl’s animosity. ‘How did you guess? I hear you’re a model,’ she added to Yvonne. ‘I do a bit too in my spare time.’

  ‘What kind?’ said Yvonne coldly.

  ‘Oh, nude stuff mostly. I was Penthouse Pet of the Month last July.’

  ‘Were you indeed?’ said Nicky, shamelessly undressing her with his eyes.

  ‘They told the most terrible lies,’ said Tracey. ‘They photographed me cycling against a backdrop of some old university, with some pictures in these lovely silk undies and some in nothing at all.’

  ‘Really,’ said James, his eyes out on stalks.

  ‘Then they wrote all this stuff in the paper about me being an intellectual and my father being a don. But they let me keep the undies, and they paid very well.’

  ‘Is your father a don?’ said Yvonne.

  ‘No, he’s an undertaker,’ said Tracey.

  Yvonne looked taken aback. ‘Well, I suppose they do fill a need.’